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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29784672">The Unexpected Guest</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminousGloom/pseuds/LuminousGloom'>LuminousGloom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Friendship/Love, Ghosts, Haunting, M/M, Mystery, RS Fireside Tales, Second War with Voldemort, Snow, Spells &amp; Enchantments, cosy mystery, ghost story</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:42:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,950</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29784672</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminousGloom/pseuds/LuminousGloom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Out on a secret mission, Sirius and Remus seek shelter in an abandoned house.</p><p>Written for <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/RS_Fireside_Tales_Vol_3">RS Fireside Tales Vol.3</a></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sirius Black/Remus Lupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>RS Fireside Tales Vol.3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Unexpected Guest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to the Fireside mods, and to my brilliant betas.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s snowing heavily now, and the wind is picking up. ‘This is ridiculous,’ Sirius says. ‘Nothing’s going to happen and at this rate, it’ll be tomorrow. Let’s get out of here, call it a night.’ </p><p>‘Fine.’ Remus exhales heavily, casting yet another Heating Charm. ‘Where shall we go? My aunt’s cottage isn’t safe anymore. Either we find some sort of hotel somewhere… or it’ll have to be Grimmauld Place.’ </p><p>‘Great! We’ll both get that right bollocking now and that’ll be it, they’ll never let me leave again. Probably keep an eye on you, too.’</p><p>‘Anywhere, then! How about Antigua? Or Podmore’s little hideaway in–’</p><p>‘Or how about we just stay here? Look!’ Sirius points at something in the distance.</p><p>Through the whirling snow in the fading light, Remus can just about make out a small, dark house in the valley. </p><p>‘Let’s at least take a look,’ Sirius says, striding off towards the vague shape. </p><p>It’s a withered stone cottage, dripping with ivy, and apparently utterly deserted. There’s no light in the windows, no smoke rising from the chimney, no vehicle in sight, no footsteps or tyre tracks in the snow. The drooping shutters give the house a melancholy air, with its sagging roof and gap toothed wooden balcony.</p><p>Raising his wand, Sirius inclines his head. ‘I don’t think there’s any magic here,’ he says after a moment. ‘At least… nothing human.’</p><p>‘What do you mean?’ </p><p>Sirius grins. ‘You never know what might be lurking in these old places...’ </p><p>He marches off around to the side of the house, while Remus shines his wandlight into one of the windows. There’s a thick layer of dust on absolutely everything. </p><p>‘No-one’s been here in years!’ he reports when he joins Sirius at the back of the house.</p><p>‘Thought as much...’ Pocketing his wand, Sirius pushes open the back door. ‘Come on in! I doubt the owners would mind, wherever they are.’ </p><p><i>‘Who</i>ever they are,’ Remus mutters to himself. He’s barely crossed the threshold when a gust of wind slams the door shut behind him. Inside, the house is very still, though the floorboards creak loudly with every step. </p><p>Sirius is delighted. ‘Cosy, isn’t it?’ he beams, casually flicking his wand as he saunters out of the dark hallway into a spacious sitting room. ‘Home from home.’ He lights lamps and Vanishes dust, even casts <i>Purifico</i> to tackle the stale air and distinct whiff of mildew.</p><p>Remus follows him at a slower pace, studying the framed yellowed engravings on the walls, the crumbling books on the shelves. Philosophy, political theory, chemical engineering, various novels with dramatic titles. Several encyclopaedias, a book on parrot tricks. The room is sparse and meticulously tidy, the few pieces of dark, ancient furniture have seen better days. Noticing the basket of logs by the ample fireplace, Remus contemplates getting a fire going. But the smoke might attract attention, and he decides against it.</p><p>‘Pads?’ he calls out quietly, before venturing upstairs.</p><p>Sirius must’ve lit the mirrored sconces along the first floor landing. The flickering candles cast a homely, almost otherworldly light. Outside, the wind rattles the shutters and presses large snowflakes like ghostly white moths against the window panes.</p><p>The first door reveals a bedroom, bathed in the warm glow of an old fashioned desk lamp. There’s an ornate brass bedstead, an antique wardrobe, and on the wall a cracked, dark oil painting of a bowl of bruised looking fruit. The threadbare curtains have been closed, and the bed is freshly made up. Eyeing the crisp white linen, Remus wonders when Sirius might’ve acquired this sudden wealth of housekeeping charms.</p><p>The other room turns out to be a bathroom, with a clawfoot tub, and a separate little lavatory. The tiny space is positively arctic, with snow on the window sill and actual icicles hanging from the pipes. Remus quickly shoves the small window shut against the howling wind.</p><p>‘Sirius?’ he calls out on the stairs. </p><p>‘There you are!’ Sirius emerges from a door on the ground floor, looking relieved. ‘I thought you’d gone down to the cellar, the light was on...’ He shivers. ‘Bit spooky down there. But look, I found loads of good things, barely past their use-by dates. How about I rustle us up some supper?’</p><p>‘Sure, that’d be great.’ </p><p>In the spotless kitchen, the low ceiling forces Sirius to stoop a little as he investigates the kitchen cupboards, pulling out plates, bowls and pans. Remus flips on the dusty Muggle radio, which blasts out an old fashioned jazzy number. </p><p>‘D’you really think we can sleep here?’ Remus asks at last. ‘I dunno if it - if it feels quite right.’</p><p>‘Why not?’ Sirius grins at him over his shoulder. ‘We’ve slept in much worse places than this, I certainly have. We could kip on the sofa, should be comfortable enough… What’s it like upstairs, isn’t there a bedroom? Or is it too creepy?’</p><p>‘Upstairs? But wasn’t it you who–’ Remus stops, startled by the strange sound beyond the kitchen door, like a deep, mournful bell, striking repeatedly. They follow the sound. It’s the grandfather clock in the hallway, chiming midnight although it can’t be much later than half past seven.</p><p>Perplexed, Remus examines the case. ‘Did you wind it up?’ </p><p>Looking equally bewildered, Sirius shakes his head. ‘Didn’t touch it.’ </p><p>Just then there’s a heavy knock at the front door.</p><p>They stare at it, then at each other. After hesitating for just a moment, they unbolt and open the door. </p><p>In the chink of light, ringed by flurries of snow, stands a very thin, elderly man wrapped in a fur coat, his ample white hair blowing in the wind. The heavy snow has already erased his footsteps. ‘Good evening,’ he says, bowing slightly, ‘I’m so sorry to bother you. But I seem to have got lost in the wilderness, and it is getting rather chilly... Might I trouble you for a cup of tea while I warm my old bones?’</p><p>The two younger men exchange glances. </p><p>‘Yes, of course,’ Remus says, opening the door wider to let the stranger in. </p><p>He can see Sirius’ hand hovering, ready to draw his wand, but he, too, smiles at the old man. ‘Terrible out there, isn’t it? Let me take your coat.’ </p><p>‘Thank you. You’re too kind.’ Under the heavy fur, the man reveals an old fashioned suit of a dusty purple colour, with a blood red pocket square. Instead of winter boots, he’s wearing black leather shoes, polished to a high sheen. As the man daintily flattens his hair, Remus notices his fingernails are varnished a pale silver. ‘Tristram Prenderghast,’ the man introduces himself. ‘Wonderful place you’ve got here.’</p><p>‘I’m Sirius, and this is Remus. We were just about to have supper, why don’t you join us?’ </p><p>Ignoring Sirius’ extended hand, the man performs another little bow instead. ‘I’d love to, my dear. I see you’ve got a fire going,’ he beams at them as he leads the way into the sitting room, pointing at a threadbare armchair by the now mysteriously roaring fireplace. ‘Would you mind if I warm up here?’  </p><p>‘Please.’ Remus hovers for a moment, staring at the fizzing wood, the dancing flames. Then he perches on the sagging green sofa. ‘What - um,’ he reconsiders his question, ‘do you often visit these parts? In this sort of weather?’</p><p>‘Oh, the weather rather took me by surprise,’ Prenderghast smiles at him. ‘I was on my way to a party, when the snow started coming down. I should have taken my skis, really. Lucky I saw the lights on, or I might have perished!’ He laughs a tinkling laugh. </p><p>Mumbling something about tea, Remus excuses himself and returns to the kitchen, where Sirius is preparing some sort of pasta dish. </p><p>‘Is he all right?’ </p><p>‘He seems nice enough…’ Drawing his wand, Remus magically combines tea leaves, a chipped teapot, and a kettleful of boiling water. </p><p>‘Muggle, isn’t he?’</p><p>‘Something like that. But I can’t help thinking that we really shouldn’t be here.’</p><p>Picking up a wooden spoon, Sirius tastes whatever he’s conjured up in the pot on the stove, before turning to face him fully. ‘How do you mean?’</p><p>‘I dunno. It’s just - all a bit odd, isn’t it? And now this chap...’ </p><p>‘Yeah… But he’s not exactly dangerous, is he?’ Sirius’ expression is hopeful. </p><p>He’s desperate not to have to go back to Grimmauld Place quite yet, Remus knows. And who can blame him? ‘Probably not,’ he says quietly. ‘I think he <i>used</i> to be a Muggle. At least, I don’t think he’s quite human, either.’</p><p>‘Oh!’ Sirius’ eyes widen. ‘Right… Well, I honestly doubt Voldemort would bother recruiting ghosts. And anyway, we’ve slept in haunted houses before.’ He cracks a smile. ‘If you remember, it was rather fun.’</p><p>‘Yeah.’ Remus does remember. That one summer in Godric’s Hollow when Prongs had dared them to spend the night in a derelict manor house. Remus and Sirius had jumped at the chance of some time alone, and conjured up a camp bed in a grand and draughty drawing room where, surrounded by flickering candle light, they’d been surprised by the three diaphanous victims of an Elizabethan axe murderer. The ghosts were scandalised, berating the boys for their shocking state of undress, and their engaging in what they called ‘unspeakable acts’. It had been very funny. Or that other time, years later, when they were drunkenly snogging in a Soho back alley late at night, and a smarmy spirit had slithered between them, making lewd remarks and suggesting he ‘join them.’ </p><p>Sirius is excited, Remus realises with a pang. He knows full well how much Sirius hates being stuck in his parents’ old house, haunted in its own way. How lonely he gets. The crushing boredom, that edge of despair whenever Remus departs on another mission. This was only meant to be a short, secret outing, simple surveillance, safe enough. Perhaps there’s nothing wrong with staying on, he wonders now. Why not indulge in a somewhat unpredictable evening?</p><p>Tristram Prenderghast is effusive about the stale tea with lumpy sugar and long life milk. Elegantly sipping from his cup, he answers Remus’ question at great length about the party he’s supposedly going to, the splendid setting, the local luminaries he was hoping to meet there. A nuclear scientist, apparently, and potentially even a film starlet. </p><p>They’ve only half finished their tea when Sirius appears with the food. They sit at a dining table in the corner of the room.</p><p>‘What a feast!’ Prenderghast exclaims when they’re about to tuck in. ‘It’s  lovely eating in a happy home,’ he adds dreamily. ‘You two are very lucky.’</p><p>Are they? Remus wonders. He’s always thought of them as spectacularly unlucky. Victims of a cruel joke.</p><p>Apparently eating heartily, though not making much of a dent in his portion of pasta, the old man tells them about his varied life. He used to be a laboratory technician, a cinema projectionist, a haunter of late night bars, a terrible cabaret singer. He’s a gifted raconteur, but Remus is only half listening. </p><p>His thoughts keep returning to the same point. Are they happy? Of course it’s true that he’s happier now than he’s been in years. Happier probably than he’d ever expected to be. As soon as he left his teaching post at Hogwarts, he swiftly cut loose a Muggle boyfriend he liked. He ditched the prospect of a secure and quiet life, all for this perilous, unsteady existence, once again trying to thwart Voldemort and his cronies. Always cold, cramped, damp, bored, more often than not in danger. He remembers how his heart leapt that night he first saw Sirius again. That feeling of peace when, months later, they shared their tentative first kiss after twelve years apart. Is this what happiness feels like? Remus wonders. Apparently the quiet life really isn’t for him, that much is certain.</p><p>Prenderghast explains how eventually he escaped to the country, that now he’s an old-age pensioner — a career at which he can hardly fail.</p><p>‘Teaching is a wonderful profession, of course,’ he tells Remus. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to give it up.’ Before Remus can respond, the old man breezes on. ‘Imparting one’s hard earned wisdom is such a privilege. What is it they say? Adfyd a ddwg wybodaeth, a gwybodaeth ddoethineb.’</p><p>Sirius looks up from his plate. ‘Sorry, what?’ </p><p>Smiling serenely, Prenderghast raises his eyebrows at Remus, who stutters, ‘Adversity brings knowledge, and knowledge,’ he swallows hard, ‘wisdom. My mother was very fond of that saying.’ </p><p>‘Ah yes,’ the old man nods sagely, ‘such a lyrical language, Welsh. What do you say, shall we see if we can find any spirits? A little digestive, drink to the dear departed and all that...’ He points at the large cupboard. ‘Violet liqueur is my usual poison, though I know it might be a bit of a long shot…’</p><p>Sirius and Remus exchange glances. </p><p>‘Mr Prenderghast,’ Sirius says casually, getting up. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve noticed a certain group of people congregating in the area? Over the hill, perhaps? In the next valley? We’ve been trying to locate them.’ He opens the creaking cupboard, and bends to inspect the contents. </p><p>‘Indeed I have.’ Prenderghast wrinkles his fine nose. ‘Unusual fellows, not very friendly. You’d do well to steer clear of them, I’d say.’</p><p>‘Right.’ Returning to the table with three small painted glass goblets, Sirius pointedly sets one of them and a small bottle of violet liqueur in front of the old man. ‘There you go. I trust you won’t mind if we have some of this?’ He holds up a bottle of rum.</p><p>‘Not at all, dear boy, not at all! You must do anything you please!’</p><p>‘Where might we encounter these objectionable characters next?’</p><p>Prenderghast pours himself an inch of liqueur, which is an electric purple colour. ‘Tomorrow, I expect. Before noon, certainly. On the highest peak. To your very good health!’ He takes a tiny sip. </p><p>‘Cheers.’ Sirius and Remus raise their goblets and drink.</p><p>‘You remind me of someone I used to know.’ The old man smiles at Sirius. ‘Marvellous bone structure, just like yours. He came to rather a sticky end, as I recall… But then, you, too, seem to play fast and loose with your own future. Speaking of which, has anyone ever read your fortune?’</p><p>Sirius snorts into his rum. ‘No,’ he scoffs. ‘Well, sort of?’ Perhaps he’s thinking of their old divination professor’s hapless efforts. ‘Anyway, they seem to have got it all spectacularly wrong.’</p><p>Remus decides to drop any pretences. ‘Why?’ he asks the old man. ‘What can you see?’</p><p>Prenderghast takes another sip, making a grave face. ‘You are heading into turbulent times, my young friends. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Things may not be what they seem.’ He looks at them meaningfully. ‘But even when everything is very bleak, you mustn’t lose sight of what’s most important, what is solid and dependable. A solid rock is not shaken by the storm.’</p><p>‘Right…’ Sirius says dubiously.</p><p>‘Anyway, don’t let me get maudlin.’ After a last dainty sip, Prenderghast pushes his still full glass away. ‘This has been wonderful. I’d better leave you to it now.’ </p><p>They protest that he can’t go back out there, but should stay the night. ‘You should take the bed upstairs,’ Remus offers but the guest declines.</p><p>‘I couldn’t possibly. It’s bound to be much bigger. And two strapping fellows such as yourselves,’ he smiles at them. ‘I’ll be perfectly happy down here on the sofa, thank you.’</p><p> </p><p>‘D’you think he even sleeps?’ Sirius wonders later, upstairs in the bedroom. ‘Maybe he’ll just sort of waft around the house.’</p><p>‘Who knows…’ Maybe it’s the rum, but Remus has stopped worrying about their presence here. This room doesn’t even seem that creepy now they’re both in it together. Still, he casts a little protective spell along with the Heating Charms, before he begins to undress. </p><p>Examining the bedside table, Sirius retrieves a slim book and  casually flips through it. There’s an envelope stuck between the pages. ‘Look at this!’ He whistles softly. ‘Addressed to one Tristram Prenderghast…’ </p><p>The envelope contains a printed formal invitation to a party.</p><p>Sirius shifts to make room as Remus gets into bed next to him. ‘Look at the date! That’s today, isn’t it? Only in 1954.’</p><p>‘He must’ve got caught in the snow…’ Remus yawns. ‘We should’ve just asked him.’ </p><p>‘Yeah, though he seemed to enjoy his play-acting so much...’</p><p>‘What did you make of his predictions?’</p><p>Sirius snorts. ‘Sounded about right, didn’t they? All that mysterious and arcane language to state the bleeding obvious. Classic divination.’ He puts the book aside and wraps an arm around Remus.</p><p>‘You mean that things are going to get dangerous?’</p><p>‘Well. That, too. I was thinking of what he said about a rock in the storm and all that,’ says Sirius, settling against Remus and kissing his throat. ‘I know I’ve found mine.’ He gives Remus a happy, hopeful smile, and squeezes his hand. </p><p>‘Yeah.’ Remus smiles and kisses Sirius’ lips. ‘We are very lucky.’ He used to shy away from any casual talk about deep and serious feelings, worrying that perhaps he couldn’t be sure of them, that it’d be foolish to bandy about big words like ‘forever’. But he’s learnt the hard way that everything is uncertain, and all they’ve got is now. </p><p>They wake up at dawn. The house is silent, the old man is gone. After a breakfast of a tin of baked beans, they head outside. It’s snowing again, muffling all sounds. As they trudge up the hill, Remus turns to look back. He’s not sure he can even see a house.</p>
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